We're awake and mostly dressed and fed. She's romancing the tag on her bib.

Already there is baby cereal/banana sludge on my screen. Girl Talk is keeping the apartment from being silently askew. I can smell Stella's butt.

I had a dream last night that Jon Hamm offered me a ride home from some bar. I giddily agreed then went to the washroom first where I proceeded to shit ALL OVER MYSELF. Not even diarrhea - large chunks of poo all up and down me. Strung along my purse strap, in my jean pockets, everywhere. The dream ended as I frantically and futilely tried to clean myself up.

This is what the table looks like right now - a very large cup of tea nearly drained with an assortment of baby distractors.

That is a big and complicated job at this age. Keeping her distracted from realizing I might have my attention elsewhere for a few minutes is a full time job that should pay six figures. Little colorful stacking cups are currently employed.

Next up - I bathe and she gnaws on her plastic giraffe on the bathroom floor.